


Unsuitable Holiday Decor

by In_Dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Mistletoe, Post-War, Sexual Content, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22615399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dreams/pseuds/In_Dreams
Summary: A curious bit of holiday decor stirs thoughts of a past fling with a present co-worker, and Hermione finds herself drawn to Cormac McLaggen, unable to tell what's real or contrived.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Cormac McLaggen
Comments: 43
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frumpologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/gifts).



> Author's Note: Hello everyone! This is a three-part bit of Cormac/Hermione Valentine's Day nonsense. A little while ago, my dear friend Frumpologist made me a bingo card and one of the squares was Cormac McLaggen. I did not mean to write three chapters on it, but here we are. This story is complete, and the subsequent chapters will shared this week (Tuesday/Thursday or something like that); Monday's chapter of Nocturnus will not be affected.
> 
> This fic isn't alpha'd or beta'd, so any mistakes are my own, but pre-reading hugs to Frump for being such a cheerleader.
> 
> Additional fun fact: this entire first chapter was sprinted during three quarters of the Superbowl :D
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Digging the heels of her palms into her eyes, Hermione Granger released a sigh and rose from her desk. Setting the report she'd spent the last three hours poring over aside, she rolled out her neck, stretching as she stifled a yawn.

The majority of the Department of Magical Transportation would be clearing out shortly, but Hermione was anxious to finish her part in this report as soon as possible, which would mean another long night after hours.

The longer this project was active, the more time she would have to spend with her co-lead.

Hermione had yet to decide whether or not that was a good thing.

Despite the abysmal circumstances around their youthful dalliance at Hogwarts, Hermione had never quite figured out Cormac McLaggen. He was pompous, overzealous, and quite frankly, a bit of a peacock.

But ever since they had begun working together in the same department three years prior, she had started to notice other things about him.

Like the genuine way with which he spoke to the trio of older ladies who ran the administration desk. How he was always the first to step up and help out when a situation arose. And how, despite his ferociously attractive looks, she had never seen him act like a prat to anyone.

Sometimes she forgot McLaggen had been a Gryffindor—but during her time at Hogwarts, her opinions of him had been negatively coloured by a fledgling interest in Ron.

Perhaps she had never given him a fair chance.

While they had dated for a brief period of time during her sixth year, it had been little more than a few study sessions and a handful of stolen kisses.

And now, as a woman in her mid-twenties, she often couldn't keep her thoughts from drifting towards him. The cheeky, private grin he always offered her didn't help matters, when she made every effort to keep things professional.

Stowing the untoward thoughts to the side, she collected the pages of her report and ventured from her office, down the hall en route to his. They had been working together on a proposal for a new framework for international Floo travel—it wasn't altogether _exciting_ , but it was a means to get noticed by the head of the department.

But she found him instead in the central atrium of the department, leaning on an empty desk with his arms folded across his chest, in conversation with several of their co-workers.

Cormac was the social butterfly—always had been—while Hermione was far more of a workhorse.

Squaring her shoulders and straightening her jaw, she stood to the side, report clutched to her chest. After a prolonged moment, Cormac noticed her, standing upright and offering her a slow grin. The rest of the group dissipated as the end of the day neared, until it was just the pair of them. Her skin prickled.

"Hermione," he greeted. "I was just on my way to find you. Got distracted; you know how it goes."

And _this_ was why nothing would ever happen between them. With a facsimile of a smile, she nodded. "Excellent. The draft is ready for your revisions."

He took the report from her, and she couldn't help the way she watched his hands as he flipped through the draft with a cursory glance. His blue eyes snapped up towards hers and she released a breath, willing away the flush of warmth in her cheeks.

While Cormac's curly hair might have looked juvenile on anyone else, it gave him a sort of roguish, approachable look. His voice was low as he murmured, "I can't imagine I'll need to make many revisions to your work."

Without fail, he consistently knocked her off her guard, despite her best efforts.

"Thank you," she said, voice breathier than she intended.

Gesturing towards his office, he asked, "Do you have a moment? I'd like to discuss something."

"Of course." Fixing her expression into one of serious professionalism, she walked at his side towards his office, feeling an uncomfortable tension in her shoulders. "Is something the matter?"

"Not at all."

When he didn't elaborate any further, Hermione dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. Cormac was several inches taller than her, even with her heels, and he left her feeling at odds with herself.

The last of their co-workers were trickling out as they walked the length of the corridor, finally arriving at his office. Making to step through the threshold, Hermione froze as something caught in her periphery.

Slowly, her gaze dragged up to the top of the doorframe.

"Cormac," she mused, a knit pulling between her brows, "is that… magical mistletoe?"

"What?" Blinking, he followed her stare, before waving a dismissive hand. "Of course not. The Ministry doesn't allow mistletoe in the departments anymore."

"I know that," she eased carefully, "but why is it hanging here?"

"It's for decoration."

Grimacing, she attempted to understand his line of reasoning. "Cormac, it's February."

Confused blue eyes blinked at her. "I know that."

"Sooo…" She trailed off, feeling uneasy, and unwilling to cross the threshold. Magical mistletoe was well known to ensnare, and she had no intentions of allowing that to happen, after hours, and alone with Cormac McLaggen.

Even though she would be lying to say she hadn't thought of kissing him a dozen or so times since they had started working closely together.

Frowning, she leaned one hip against the wall across from his door. "I'm not walking beneath it."

Cormac shrugged. "Fine. We'll have this discussion in the hallway, although I'd prefer in my office. It isn't mistletoe—see; it doesn't have berries."

When Hermione squinted to see closer, she realised he was being truthful. But still, the plant itself looked like a sprig of mistletoe. "So, what—the berries have been disillusioned to look like hearts?"

"Something like that." He flashed her a winning smile, and Hermione fought the urge to groan. "Like you've said, it's February. Valentine's Day and all that."

Another reason why things would _never_ work out between them, and it was about time she dropped the stupid schoolgirl infatuation.

Steadying herself once more, she snipped, "I don't care for Valentine's Day."

Cormac's face fell. "Don't all women?" When her eyes widened at the generalisation, he chuckled, holding up a hand. "I'm only teasing. We went to school together for six years, remember? I know you were never one of those girls."

The casual reference to their school years together, along with the inference that he'd been watching her closely, left an uncomfortable lump in her throat as she forced a nod. "So it isn't… magical."

"Nope." His lips popped on the 'p' sound. "I promise you won't get stuck beneath it."

Releasing a sigh, Hermione stepped forward. A small voice in the back of her head suggested it wouldn't be _terrible_ if they were trapped. But she shook it off; they were co-workers, and nothing more, even if they had shared a short-lived fling as teenagers.

Even so, she wasn't certain she trusted his motives—honestly, who hung mistletoe in February anyways, even if it had been magically altered? She edged through the doorway, keeping her back to the frame so as to slip alongside the direct area beneath it.

Cormac cracked a grin and followed her through; Hermione deflated, feeling ridiculous for having overreacted.

"You know," he said, leaning against the wall with a cheeky grin, "it does bring back memories, doesn't it? You, me, mistletoe."

Her eyes tightened on him and she managed a thick swallow. "I suppose you're right. Shall we discuss the report?"

"Like I said," he mused, eyes crinkling, "I trust your revisions. I just wanted to speak with you about the next steps. We'll be presenting the proposal to the seniors of the department, as you know, but I spoke with Collins yesterday and he's going to bring in the Head of International Magical Cooperation as well. It's reasonable to expect that both departments will benefit from this."

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised that he'd taken the initiative. "That's great. Thanks, Cormac."

"I've arranged a meeting next week, so you and I can polish out any tweaks in the meantime."

The sparkle in his blue eyes as they met hers caught her off guard and she offered a voracious nod. Merlin, what was the matter with her? She never acted this way in front of the man.

"Great," she repeated, distracted, collecting her report back from his desk, given it seemed evident he wouldn't be looking at it tonight. "I'll just give this another round of edits before I call it a night here—"

"Nonsense," Cormac announced, waving her off. "You've been working hard enough as it is. Take an early night for once, yeah?"

Biting down on her lip to fight off a smile, Hermione dropped her head to the side. "Maybe I will. Thanks, Cor. See you tomorrow, then."

He flashed her that cocky grin that always twisted her stomach into knots without fail. Though she drew a tight breath, nothing happened when she passed once more through his doorway and she glanced up at the misapplied bit of decor as he followed her from the office.

"It _is_ odd, you have to admit," she murmured, gazing at the green sprig with little red hearts. "Where did you get it from?"

"Told you, it's just a decoration. I like to get festive."

For some reason the words stirred something within her and she fought off a blush as she searched for a double entendre.

Leaning back against the wall, he added, "George gave it to me."

Hermione froze, startled eyes dropping to find his. "George Weasley?"

"Yeah." With a bit of a grimace, Cormac dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "He owls me now and again to grab a drink. Still struggles with the loss of Freddie somedays. I saw him last week, and I think the bloke was just grateful to have someone to talk to."

A twinge twisted in her stomach at the thought of George, even as warning bells pealed in the back of her mind.

"And he… _gave_ you that."

Cormac gave a bit of a shrug, eyeing the decoration himself. "Georgie said it was something he made. I thought it looked nifty so I brought it here." He gave her a grin, as if the matter was finished.

The discomfort grew in her stomach as her eyes narrowed in on the innocuous looking plant. _Nothing_ from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was for _decoration_ only.

"Right," she managed, plastering a smile onto her lips. "It's nifty. Anyways, have a nice night, Cor."

His grin softened into something secretive and he nodded. "And you. See you tomorrow, Hermione."

She had to force herself not to run.

* * *

It took all of her nerves to drag herself into the Ministry the next day; with every step, Hermione expected some strange turn of events to catch her off her guard. Or worse, for something to cloud her mind.

She didn't know anything about Cormac's mysterious Valentine's mistletoe—and she hadn't wanted to ask George about it—but a cursory glance through their catalogue didn't show her anything of the sort. Which meant either the product was new or experimental.

And if Cormac had received it as a _gift_ from George Weasley himself—Hermione shuddered to think about what she might have exposed herself to the night before. She could only imagine the sort of suspicious magic with which the plant had been imbued.

So much had she worked herself up over it that by the time Cormac rapped on the open doorframe of her office, she jumped so violently she nearly knocked a stack of books off her desk.

Turning towards the door, heart racing, she offered an uneasy smile. "Cormac. Come in, of course."

He cocked a single arched brow before edging into the office. "Everything alright? Did you sleep okay?"

"Fine," she returned, voice oddly high pitched. "Slept just fine. And you?"

His suspicion melted into a grin. "Like a baby." Cormac dropped into the seat across from hers at her desk, shifting some papers out of the way to dig up the report they were to work on. Hermione twitched at his idle rearranging of her important work.

Honestly, _why_ was she even remotely interested in the man?

Disregarding the cut of his jaw and the shade of his eyes, of course.

Waving towards her chair, he asked, "Shall we?"

"Right," she managed, "of course."

The good news was that if the mistletoe possessed some sort of latent love potion or charm, she would have been feeling the effects already, although that would _not_ have worked out well.

But realistically, why would Cormac have decided his _office_ was the best place to hang a Weasley-designed Valentine's Day decoration?

It wasn't a fair assessment, but she had always considered the man a bit _simpler_ than some—although, just because he didn't overthink everything to her level didn't mean he wasn't smart in his own way. She had seen his own brand of creativity and intelligence many times over the years they'd both worked at the Ministry together, so it couldn't be that he was simply that _naive_.

Cormac began to whistle a cheerful tune as he drew a quill from his bag, skimming the front page of their proposal.

Maybe he honestly believed it was a simple decoration; he had claimed he found it to be nifty.

Hermione decided she could take a page from his book and put the entire matter from her mind. They had work to do, and she wasn't doing either of them any favours by lingering awkwardly by the door. So with that thought in mind, she took the second visitor's chair beside him and they set to work.

* * *

By the time they took a break for lunch, they had made significant progress on the report. They had a week until they were to present their proposal to the department heads for implementation, and most of the problems had already been smoothed out.

Interlocking his hands behind his head, Cormac leaned back in his seat, stretching out his muscles. Before she could stop herself, Hermione found her eyes drift to the defined muscle of his biceps and forced a swallow.

Unbidden, a memory from sixth year swept through her mind; his hands skimming her sides, body firm against hers as his lips latched onto her neck.

Huffing a loud exhale, she eyed him, careful to keep her expression blank as her cheeks once more betrayed her.

Glancing her way, he asked, "Hot in here? I'd say so. Should we get some lunch?" With that same grin that had left her weak and lacking in willpower all morning, he added, "My treat."

"Lunch," she echoed, tongue darting out to moisten her lips. If she wasn't mistaken, his eyes dropped at the movement. "Lunch sounds fine—but I can't allow you to pay."

"Inappropriate, I'll bet," he said, but the words were good-natured. "Well, fine. But when this proposal gets accepted I'm taking you for a drink for all your hard work, and no arguments!"

She couldn't find it in her to deny his offer as she drew her wallet from the bottom drawer of her desk and rose to follow him from the office. They walked past his open door en route to the Ministry cafeteria, the curious sprig of mistletoe with its little hearts staring back, mocking her.

Hermione wasn't certain, but Cormac seemed to be walking quite close, and when his arm swung and brushed against hers, she leapt to the side unwittingly. Without missing a beat, he glanced her way but kept walking, and when she selected a few items for her tray, she almost expected he would try to pay for her lunch despite her requests that he not. But he was respectful and didn't attempt to push, and when they sat down at a small table, he chewed his food in silence.

She was relieved to see he possessed proper table manners.

But then, Cormac was a pureblood, and despite that his family wasn't a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, to her knowledge there was still a certain level of propriety and decorum that went along with that.

The entirety of the cafeteria was decorated in garish shades of red and pink, and he gazed around for several minutes before slamming half his glass of water in one. Turning halfway towards her, he announced, "Valentine's Day."

"Right," she managed, unsure of the reference.

He waved a vague hand around them. "Really is quite ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Yes." She'd been halfway tensed for an awkward conversation to ensue, and she was relieved for the turn in the conversation. "Completely ridiculous."

"I mean," he went on, leaning back in his seat; he still hadn't looked directly at her. "If you care about someone, right. You shouldn't need _one day_ to show it."

"I agree."

Voice dropping off, he added, "Just show them every damn day, I'd figure."

For some reason, the words set off a tingle on the surface of her skin, and Hermione nodded. "Especially not with overpriced meals and chocolates and flowers that will be dead in a week."

"Hell no," Cormac said. Finally his blue eyes snapped up to meet hers. "Do you have plans?"

Startled, she blinked back at him, unsure whether he was asking as a matter of interest or for some other reason. "No. I'll likely be at work."

"Yeah," he said, glancing away again. "Same." Flashing her a grin, he added, "We can _not_ celebrate it together, if you like."

A breath caught in her throat. "Cormac, I—"

"I'm joking, of course," he said, his voice dropping, even as a teasing hint of a smile still lingered on his lips. "I know I blew my shot with you all those years ago. I've accepted that. But no reason why we can't still be friends."

Hermione wasn't certain what to say to that, when her stomach had leapt into her throat and her heart began throbbing painfully in her chest. But he didn't seem to be waiting for a response.

One thing she had learned about Cormac McLaggen—and something she had grown to respect and admire about him—was that there was never a hidden agenda. He said what he meant, and it was as uncomplicated as that.

But still, she felt she owed the comment a response, flippant though it might have been. "Cor, it was a long time ago."

His eyes lifted to meet hers.

The _blasted_ Valentine's mistletoe. It had to be the reason her heart was racing at the sight of him. Appetite having vanished in an instant, she barely managed to chug back the last of her water.

"I don't know what might have happened," she added, something in his stare forcing her to push through, "if things had been different that year. I had a lot on my plate, and I don't think I gave you the consideration I ought to have—"

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly, cutting her off. A resigned smile rested on his face. "I didn't mean anything by it. You were the highlight of my last year at Hogwarts—well, of most of my life since, to be honest—but it's nothing more or less than that."

Idly, she wondered why he was making such drastic confessions, even as her heart throbbed as she processed his words, delayed though they reached her brain. It was the Valentine's mistletoe; there was no other explanation for it. But she couldn't stop her own response.

"I can't imagine I've been the _highlight_ —" she managed, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Sadness lingered beneath the brightness of his eyes, and he only stared at her for a long moment. At last, in barely a breath, he said, "Don't undervalue yourself. You're more than anyone's ever let you believe."

The words clenched at her chest, and she was horrified to feel the hot sting of moisture pushing at the backs of her eyes. In a whisper, she responded, "Thanks, Cormac."

"Anyways." His gaze dropped to the table, and he gathered his rubbish onto his tray. "Let's get back, shall we? We've got a report to finish."

The whole walk back, Hermione couldn't force a smile.

* * *

By the end of the day, she was so emotionally fatigued that Hermione couldn't even fathom the thought of staying after hours. Beyond that, she and Cormac had spent the rest of the afternoon pushing through the revisions of their proposal, and it was more or less ready to be presented. They would simply have to prepare the actual presentation in advance of their meeting the following week, but Cormac had enough natural charisma to carry both of them if need be, and their report was sound.

They parted, optimistic.

Still, Hermione couldn't shake the thought that something felt wrong. She had worked with Cormac for three years—not usually in such close quarters—but for some reason, she had been thinking about him a lot recently, and especially in the last twenty-four hours.

There was more to him than she had ever realised; maybe she _had_ been unfair to him at Hogwarts.

Lingering in her office after he had already left to his own, she pondered their experiences together in her sixth year.

The way she had treated him as a way to make Ron jealous. Cormac had been legitimately interested in her, and while to an extent, she had enjoyed their time together as well, she had been duplicitous in her actions.

When Cormac wanted to take her to Slughorn's Slug Club Christmas party, she had treated him downright poorly.

Her eyes stung as she recalled his words in the cafeteria earlier that day. That he believed _he_ had blown his shot with her. But his shot had never been valid to begin with.

Eyes watering with tears she fought to keep at bay, she rose from her desk, feeling some unnamed urge push her through the atrium and down the hallway towards his office. In the back of her mind, she thought something else was responsible for this. The mistletoe, or—

The breath chased from her as she collided with a solid mass, and as she lost her balance, a hand caught her wrist; steadying herself, Hermione blinked through a watery sheen to find a pair of bright blue eyes watching her.

"Hermione?" Concern was evident in Cormac's eyes as she blinked back the threatening tears. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she managed, with a stiff nod, "I was only hoping to find you before you left."

Belatedly, she realised his fingers were still coiled around her wrist, his grip assertive but gentle. When her eyes flickered to the contact, he released her, taking a step back from their close proximity.

A slow grin slid across his face. "You found me."

The hall was otherwise deserted, and Hermione suspected everyone else had already gone home for the day. Most often, it was just her left at this time—and increasingly, Cormac as well.

His expression sobered when she didn't smile back. "What was it?"

He never blew anything—it was her fault they had never had a chance together. If she hadn't been so focused on someone else, she might have seen the person in front of her. And now, having grown and matured, he was—

The thoughts raced through her mind as she stared up at him, the pair of them still only a step apart, and her breathing escalated as his gaze flickered down to her mouth.

Merlin, she wanted to kiss him.

Wanted to show him that he hadn't blown his chance at all, and maybe if he was willing to allow her another chance, they could give it a real shot this time.

And they worked together, but they could make something work, and—

The skin between his brows knitted, the concern on his face deepening as she stared mutely, gaping, unable to formulate two words to string together.

In the corner of her periphery, she could see the inane sprig of Valentine's mistletoe hanging on his doorframe, and the image of it was jarring and insincere. Her heart dropped.

At last she choked out a heavy breath, and pressed her lips into a thin effort at a smile, her heart puncturing and deflating in her chest. "I just wanted to say, Cormac, that I enjoyed our lunch together today. Thank you for the invitation."

For a moment, he only stared back at her, his expression faltering, but then he offered a kind smile. "Anytime, Hermione. Like I said—we're friends."

"Friends," she repeated, her voice empty. "Of course. I hope you have a nice night, Cormac."

His hand came up to give her shoulder a squeeze. "And you, Hermione. See you tomorrow."

And with that he brushed past and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

During a long, fitful night, Hermione had come to a conclusion.

If Cormac's nifty Valentine's mistletoe was somehow responsible for the innocuous, suspicious feelings she'd been experiencing around him, most likely the magic would wear off after Valentine's Day. Or at the very least, Cormac would no longer have a reason to keep it on his doorframe, and he would dispose of it. Or, given his proclivity for the thing, he might stow it away.

Regardless, if the magic with which it had been imbued was no longer permeating the air around her, she would be able to get away from it and clear her mind once more.

Then Hermione would be able to go back to an existence of simple co-workers with the man.

All she would have to do would be to avoid excess contact with him in the meantime. Their report was more or less prepared, and they had minimal work left as far as their presentation to the department heads.

The only remaining problem was that their presentation was scheduled for the thirteenth, the day _before_ Valentine's Day. So the magic would likely still be active.

Hermione had considered seeing about delaying the presentation until the fifteenth, but she had quickly dismissed the idea. She wasn't willing to sacrifice all the hard work they'd put into the project, and she certainly wasn't _afraid_ of Cormac.

Even if she did harbour some _small_ measure of true interest in the man, it was irrelevant. While the Valentine's mistletoe was active, her feelings weren't legitimate, and anything that might have been shared between them would be false. Furthermore, they worked together. It was unprofessional.

The sooner the better. And besides, after they were through with the presentation, they wouldn't be in one another's space nearly as much.

So it would just be a matter of keeping things civil between them until then. Hermione could do civil.

They had worked together for three years, and nothing untoward had ever happened in that time. Surely nothing would go wrong in a matter of days.

Even with George's bloody love mistletoe hanging in Cormac's office.

Honestly, it was a wonder the man hadn't suspected George's intentions. Even if Cormac was friends with George, as he claimed, he ought to have realised nothing from the joke shop was as innocuous as it seemed.

Although she had to admit, it was awfully sweet that Cormac had taken up such an active role in looking out for George. Merlin knew, the man still struggled with the loss of his twin brother, even so many years later.

As she exited the lift into the department that morning, sleep-deprived and a little worse for the wear, Hermione blew out a breath, steeling her shoulders and lifting her chin.

She could do this. She'd fought in a war as a teenager—she could keep her distance from one man. One sweet, genuine, incredibly attractive man.

Grinding her teeth, she winced. Pompous. Prone to ignoring subtleties and nuance. He _could_ use a haircut, if she was being brutally honest.

"Hermione!"

Startled, she came to an abrupt stop en route to her office via the central atrium. Despite her best efforts to sneak in before anyone else, Cormac was already there, a grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes as if her very presence had made his day.

Hermione fixed her face into a stern expression and offered a sharp nod. "Cormac. Hello."

Though she hastened her pace, his legs were longer and he kept up with her stride easily as she continued on towards her office. She clicked her tongue as he followed her through the door.

_Ignorant of subtleties indeed_.

"Did you need something?" she asked, turning towards him.

His smile faltered, only for a second, before he leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. "I wasn't sure about your schedule—but I thought we could hammer out the rest of the details for the presentation?" There must have been something on his face, because a small knit pinched the skin between his brows. "Unless you'd rather not."

Releasing a sigh, she offered him a smile. She couldn't be rude to the man—not a chance. Not when he had been so good to her.

Hermione waved a hand towards the chair he'd spent the better part of the previous day occupying and admitted, "My morning is free," before settling in beside him.

When his lips curled with a soft, private smile, she carefully stowed the swooping of her stomach to the side.

None of it was real, anyways. Thanks to his nifty bloody decoration.

* * *

It took longer than Hermione had expected to comb through the fine details of their presentation—largely due to the fact that she and Cormac were prone to drifting away from the topic at hand. If nothing else, she hadn't laughed so much at work in a long time.

And really, it wouldn't be _terrible_ if something happened between her and Cormac. He offered pleasant company, and there was something reassuring about his presence, as if she didn't _need_ to be the one in charge for once. His easy, casual manner was a good balance to her own perpetual need to constantly push herself beyond her limits.

But even as she had the thought, the reality crashed once more upon her that she couldn't trust any thoughts or feelings on the matter to be real.

No matter how intrigued, or even how interested she found herself in the man, it could all be for naught when the middle of the month passed.

And a small voice at the back of her mind suggested that even Cormac's own interactions with her could be influenced by the blasted decoration. So she did her best to ignore the insistent thoughts that pushed at her through the rest of the week.

Through the weekend, Hermione found it easier to distract herself from what she refused to call something so juvenile as a _crush_ , but an infatuation sounded too heavy. She kept herself busy with cleaning, ran several errands, and reached out to some friends she hadn't seen in a while.

The presentation was Monday afternoon, so she only had to work closely with Cormac McLaggen for one more day before she would be able to take a step back. The thought incited unease in the pit of her stomach, but again, she knew it was due to George Weasley's Valentine's Day decoration.

And though by Sunday night Hermione had relieved some of the incessant thoughts about her co-worker and former youthful fling, she couldn't help the thought that she _wanted_ it to be real.

Blessedly, Monday morning moved quickly; she suspected it was partly to do with the fact that she was nervous about the presentation itself, but also, Cormac had been working on another project and had kept to his wing of the department.

Nearing the end of her lunch break, she looked up to see him leaning in the open doorframe of her office and stubbornly ignored the swooping in her stomach at the sight of him. She hadn't seen him since Friday, and she couldn't quite help the smile that pulled at her lips.

"Are you nearly set, co-conspirator?" he questioned, a crooked grin sliding across his face.

"Yes," she breathed, rising from her desk and collecting her files before approaching him at the door. Theirs wouldn't be the only presentation on the topic, but Hermione was hopeful theirs would be the best—and would proceed towards the Wizengamot to be pushed through the channels of Ministry policy. "I think we're as ready as we'll ever be."

Cormac stared at her for a long time, a tilt to his head and his expression thoughtful. "This has been really fun— _despite_ the dry subject matter. Working together, I mean. We should do it more often."

Hermione frowned at the way her heart leapt in her chest at the thought. Even so, she couldn't help her reply. "I've really enjoyed working with you as well, Cormac. I couldn't have asked for a better partner on this project."

And she meant it. Despite their differences, they complemented one another well. She was starting to think, even outside of the workplace. But those were dangerous thoughts, too.

The smile faded from Cormac's face, his mouth twisting to the side, and for a moment she thought she might have said something wrong. But then he nodded and said quietly, "That means a lot, Hermione. Thanks."

For a long, extended moment, she stared up at him, into his expressive blue gaze, and her heart beat a little faster. They were close enough to touch, and she kept her files hugged closely to her chest, lest her hands betray her.

Finally he glanced away, clearing his throat. Hermione forced a thick swallow, unable to smile. One more day, and they would go back to normal. Tightly, she managed, "Shall we?"

Sweeping a hand through his thick curls, Cormac cracked an uneasy grin and waved a hand towards the door. "Ladies first."

* * *

Their presentation was first, with the others to follow, and then the committee would deliberate before announcing the proposal of their choice towards the end of the day.

Hermione was certain her presentation with Cormac had gone as well as they could have expected. The heads of both International Magical Cooperation and Magical Transportation seemed receptive to the simplicity and easy implementation of their suggestion for an issue that had long plagued the Ministry with its inefficiency.

It seemed half the department was involved in the presentations that afternoon so any hopes for getting work done were a wash with the ruckus coming from the central atrium. And even if Hermione had tried, she didn't think she could focus.

If the committee were to select their proposal, it would be a big step for her career in the Ministry. Hermione didn't want to be a junior in the Department of Magical Transportation forever, but it had been one of the only options available when she sought to get a foot in the door at the Ministry, and it had been a good enough job for her to stick it out for a number of years.

Cormac hadn't pushed when she said she wanted to wait on her own, even though she knew he was visiting with the rest of the department in the atrium, awaiting the committee's decision.

She couldn't quell the jitter of nerves, even despite that their presentation had gone well, and she found herself pacing the small space of her office, clutching her elbows with her arms wrapped across her front.

There was so much hanging on the results, and every few minutes she found herself glancing at the clock, wondering if time had perhaps simply stopped.

After what had felt like days, a soft knock sounded on her door, and she stopped, frozen to the spot, with a quiet, "Come in."

Cormac sidled into the room, closing the door behind him. His expression was blank and her heart sunk in an instant; he was so often jovial and positive that dread filtered through her. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms, and his blue stare met hers as she walked closer.

Hermione felt her shoulders sink, her stomach turning and a bitter taste in her mouth. Voice quiet, she asked, "We didn't get it?"

With a grimace, he stared at her for a long moment; any remaining hope fell from her and she glanced away. Then he nudged her in the shoulder; a slow grin spread across his face when she looked back and he muttered, "Of course we bloody got it."

Gaping, Hermione stared at him for a fraction of an instant before she threw caution to the wind and leapt forward, wrapping her arms around his neck in an embrace. She couldn't stop her own grin.

After a moment's hesitation, his arms came around her back and drew her tighter. Hermione realised the mistake at the feel of his hard body against hers, the scent of his woodsy cologne playing at her senses.

She was taken back to her sixth year at the familiar feel of him, the way his hands had felt on her, the reverence with which he had kissed her. One of her hands snaked up the back of his neck, into the curls at his nape, the side of her face pressed against the warm skin of his throat.

Something shifted between them, his hands dragging along her back, and all the rest of it ceased to matter. Her mind emptied of any thoughts but for the feel of him, indulging in the touch of his hands, and when she drew her face back, she almost instinctively sought his lips.

Her mouth grazed his, tentative and seeking, and with the gentle pressure of his lips against hers, she kissed him again, eyes fluttering shut.

Cormac dragged one assertive hand along her neck, burying it into her curls as he kissed her harder, more insistent, and she surrendered to his touch like the comfort of an old friend, mouth opening to him as his tongue teased hers.

Even as teenagers, he had always known how to make her feel just right. A soft whimper escaped her lips as he dragged his teeth along her jaw, pressing her back against the door, one hand sweeping down her hip to the curve of her arse. He kissed her again, teasing and meticulous, and Hermione's heart beat an anxious cadence in her chest as she ran her hands down his sides and back, overwhelmed at the feel of him.

In that moment, nothing else mattered; not the presentation, not the Valentine's mistletoe—

Hermione froze, eyes snapping open as horror raced through her.

The Valentine's mistletoe.

Cormac drew back at her sudden lack of response, chin ducked and blue eyes meeting hers. He was breathtakingly attractive and Hermione couldn't calm the roaring of her blood in her ears as his expression dropped.

"I'm sorry," she gasped out, feeling a hot sting of shame colour her face as she stared at him. "I just—I can't—"

Despite the confusion that flickered across his face, Cormac nodded. "It's okay."

Frustration streaked through her and she turned to look away, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth because all she wanted to do was pull him back in again. "It's that bloody decoration you've got up. I don't the spell that's on it, or—"

"The decoration?" Cormac asked, his voice quiet and cautious. "I don't know what you're—oh."

"The one George gave you," she whispered.

Cormac merely echoed, "Oh." He stared at her for a long moment, so long that Hermione wasn't sure whether he was going to say anything more, his expression carefully blank. "You think it has something to do with _this_. Because George gave it to me."

Hermione could only nod.

"Right," Cormac bit out, and finally offered an uneasy smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I thought maybe you were actually—well, never mind. We'll forget about this then, yeah?"

"Cormac," she breathed, devastated as he stepped back, jaw hard. "Please don't—"

"At least the project's through." His throat bobbed with a swallow, but his face was still painfully devoid of expression. "I'll see you later, Hermione."

He was gone, the door closing quietly behind him, before she could finish with a feeble, "—Be upset."

Eyes stinging with hot tears, she could only stare at the door, stunned.

* * *

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had felt like such a pool of overwhelming shame. Not only had she kissed Cormac despite _knowing_ that she couldn't trust her own feelings, she'd _hurt_ him. She couldn't decide what was worse.

The pain in his blue stare kept echoing back through her mind, her eyes red from the tears that broke free after she Apparated home from work. Whether Cormac was actually still interested in her, or whether he was being affected by George's spell too, didn't matter.

Even if he didn't truly care about her in that way, she had likely ruined a good friendship, and hurt a good man.

But it wasn't fair to him for her to have kissed him without knowing how she actually felt about the matter.

Hermione felt misery and self-deprecation filter through her as she dragged herself into bed, furious with herself and torn at the idea of owling him. By his reaction earlier, she didn't think he would want to hear from her. And even if she did have the nerve—which she knew, in that moment, that she didn't—she had no idea what she would even say to him.

The next day would be Valentine's Day, and then the stupid decoration would be gone. Exhaustion finally took her and she drifted off into an uneasy sleep, wondering how everything had gone so wrong.

* * *

Despair sat in the pit of her stomach the next morning when Hermione awoke, fatigued from a restless night. She felt dreadful over all that had transpired the day before, and couldn't summon any of her Gryffindor courage.

For the first time in over two years, Hermione owled in sick to work.

Another owl was already waiting for her when she made her way into the kitchen, and for a fleeting instant her heart leapt at the thought that Cormac might have sent her a letter.

But as she neared the window, she realised it was Harry's bird, carrying a small package of assorted chocolates, with a little red note wishing her a happy Valentine's Day.

He was a good friend, to think of her even though she was single.

Even though she didn't currently feel as if she deserved anything.

For the duration of the morning, Hermione waffled between self-pity and self-loathing, picking at a bowl of soggy cereal in her pyjamas. She desperately wanted to reach out to Cormac, but she had more or less told him the only reason she kissed him was because she thought she was being influenced by magic.

And while her heart was broken at the thought that she had hurt him, she didn't know the truth of the matter.

At every small sound, she leapt in her seat, wondering if it was another owl, but none showed up. She didn't even expect Cormac to want to see her; he was probably pleased she wasn't at work so he wouldn't have to avoid her. It would be evident to him, she suspected, that she wasn't actually sick.

Merlin, the man had a heart of gold and she _definitely_ didn't deserve that.

When Hermione walked past the mirror, she stopped, startled by her own appearance. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, hair a frightful mess, and her sleep clothes ruffled. With a shudder, Hermione frowned. She was better than this.

Knowing she had hurt Cormac's feelings, she had dragged herself around in a pity party, even though _he_ was the one she ought to be thinking of. At the very least, she owed him an apology.

Steeling her determination, Hermione showered and dressed, managing some of the wildness in her hair to settle, and applying a hint of make-up.

Realistically, she should speak to him in person, but he would still be at work, and she had already claimed herself sick. So instead, she sat down at her desk and attempted to write him a letter. Every effort felt insincere and as if she were merely justifying her actions—which wouldn't help matters at all. Finally she settled on a simple letter, knowing it likely wouldn't do anything.

_Cormac_

_I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. I've been attempting to determine the legitimacy of my feelings, and what I did to you was unfair. I hope we can talk about this soon._

_Hermione_

It wasn't the best she could have come up with, but anxiety raced through her as she sent off the letter, hoping he would at least accept it.

Close to an hour later, a rapping came from the window and Hermione leapt from her seat so fast she nearly stumbled over the corner of the sofa.

Her heart dropped as she skimmed the response, hastily scribbled on the back of her own letter.

_Hermione_

_It's fine. Enjoy your day off._

_Cormac_

She would have preferred him to be angry with her. His indifference hurt in a separate way, and she carefully folded the letter, sucking in a deep breath. Eventually he would have to talk to her; they worked together and he couldn't be angry forever. She would see him tomorrow and make him talk to her.

_Without_ the blasted influence of that decoration above his door.

The thought swirled in the back of her mind as she gazed unseeingly at the window. Then she jumped to her feet, grabbed her wand, and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

* * *

The wizarding high street was busier than she had expected for the middle of the day, but everywhere Hermione looked there were couples, and with a grimace she was reminded once more it was Valentine's Day.

Gathering her courage, she made her way to the orange monstrosity that was Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and edged into the shop and towards the counter through the crowds.

A young blonde woman noticed her with a bright expression. "Hermione! What brings you in today?"

"Hi Verity," she managed with a smile, "I was wondering if George is in?"

"Somewhere!" Verity returned, her voice raised over the din as she scanned the shop. Mutely she pointed, and as Hermione followed the trajectory, she noticed George in conversation with a small group of customers. A wide grin stretched across his face as she watched.

"Thanks," Hermione called before making her way in George's direction.

When he noticed her, his mouth fell open in surprise, and he excused himself before sweeping her into a massive embrace in the middle of the shop. Despite herself, Hermione sunk into the brotherly touch, comfort seeping into her. George drew back, holding her at arm's length, as if he were inspecting her. "Mum would say you're looking thin—but what does she know? Come on into the back away from this madness."

An easy smile pulled at her lips as she walked with George into the quiet of his office, taking a seat on a lime green sofa before she turned towards him. "How have you been, George?"

"Keeping busy," he said in an instant, as if it were an automatic response. But then he grimaced, head tilting to the side. "You know how it is. Some days are better than others."

"Yeah," Hermione managed. "I've been meaning to visit more, I've just—"

George waved her off with a grin. "I know you've got plenty on your plate at the Ministry. I appreciate the visit today, though."

Biting down on her bottom lip, she stared at him for a moment, deliberating. "I'm afraid it isn't a purely social call."

"Of course not. What can I help you with?"

Merlin, maybe this was a bad idea. Drawing in a long breath, she began with a cautious, "I hope this conversation can stay between us." When George mimed zipping his lips shut, she smiled. "Well, I work with Cormac McLaggen."

"I know," George said, a curious smile on his lips. "Go on."

"You gave him something," she said, leaning forward in her seat. "A sort of mistletoe that's a Valentine's Day decoration. And I was just wondering what sort of love spell is on it."

A knit pulled at George's brows as he frowned. "Mistletoe?" A moment passed and he nodded. "Right. A couple of weeks ago. Cormac's been a good friend through the years, especially after we lost Freddie. Cor likes stupid shite like that—inappropriate holiday decor, little animal figures with anatomically incorrect faces. Makes him laugh."

The mention of Cormac twisted her stomach into a tight knot and she forced a smile. "Yes. He said he thought it was nifty."

"Nifty." George cracked a grin and chuckled. But then his expression faltered. "No magic in that thing, Hermione. I just thought he would like it—gave it to him as a little thank you for helping me through some dark days."

A wave of nausea swept through her. "No magic?"

His smile softened into something else with a slow shake of his head. "I wouldn't do that to Cormac. The git's got a good heart; I couldn't try to manipulate it."

Hermione's head spun as she attempted to process the thought.

But a cheshire grin crossed George's face once more. "Whatever dirty thoughts you're having about Cor are all your own making, I'm afraid."

She couldn't even pretend at a smile. The desperation in her face must have shown because George clasped a hand to her shoulder. "I don't know what you've done, Hermione, but I think it'll be okay. Here's what I will tell you: Cormac is one of the most genuine blokes I know, and he's going to treat some woman like a queen one day if he ever decides to get over you."

Startled, her eyes snapped up to meet George's kind ones. Her voice was hoarse. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I just said—and Cormac will kill me for saying so."

Releasing a long breath, she whispered, "I think I've really hurt him, George."

"If I'm piecing this together right," George said quietly, leaning forward in his seat, "I think he will forgive you. If that's what you want."

"It is," she said, without even thinking about it. In an instant, the realisation swept through her that the way she had been feeling about Cormac was real after all—and she didn't know if that made the situation any easier, knowing he wanted nothing to do with her. But she only nodded again, eyes stinging, and repeated softer, "It is."

A slow smile swept across George's face. "What can I do to help?"

Steeling her resolve, Hermione met his gaze. "I need you to give me Cormac's address."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! I know it's a bit of an unconventional pairing, and it means a lot that some of you have chosen to read it anyways :) Chapter 3 will be up on Thursday.
> 
> This fic is unbeta'd and mistakes are my own.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Hermione left her flat, she had nearly talked herself out of it a dozen times. He likely didn't want to see her, he hadn't responded kindly to her owl earlier, and there was a good chance she was going to make things worse.

Cormac usually didn't leave the Ministry until after five and she didn't want to bother him during dinner, so she decided to wait until the evening. But if she Apparated to his house and he wasn't even home, she would feel foolish—although there was no way she could feel any more foolish than she already did.

It was in that vein of thought that she finally forced herself out of the door. According to George, Cormac had a house in a small magical community south of London; she had eyed the houses there herself on more than one occasion, but Hermione still preferred the convenience of living in a flat.

At half seven, she found herself on what she hoped to be Cormac's front porch, heart pounding in her chest and nausea churning in her stomach.

Her dating life had never been all that special, and she wasn't the type to do grand gestures very well. She wasn't even sure if this counted. But as she waited on the door, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air, she once more fought the urge to run.

Gryffindor courage be damned.

When she had all but convinced herself he wasn't even home, the door swung open. For a long moment, Cormac eyed her with a blank stare, then he swept a hand through his hair. He wore only jeans and a t-shirt, and looked at odds with the version of him she saw every day at the Ministry. "Hermione. What are you doing here?"

It was a relief he didn't ask her how she knew where he lived, because she didn't know whether she wanted to recount her visit with George that afternoon.

Instead, she forced herself to draw a breath and met his blue stare. "I wanted to see you."

She wasn't quite certain, but she thought Cormac rolled his eyes, before folding his arms across his chest. "This isn't a good time."

Bile rose up her throat at the implication as her eyes widened in horror. "You have company—" Backing away from the door, she muttered, "Merlin—I'm sorry to intrude."

Her heart clenched painfully in her chest at the thought that he was entertaining another woman, but it _was_ Valentine's Day after all, and she didn't know all that much about his personal life.

"What?" Cormac exclaimed, "No!" After a moment he grimaced, and repeated, "No. I don't have company. But I _am_ in the middle of something."

"Right," Hermione bit out, recognising the dismissal, though it ate her up inside. She suspected she deserved as much after the way she had treated him the day before. Ducking her chin into a nod, she added, "I just—I only wanted to say I was sorry. In person."

He eyed her for a long moment from beneath thick lashes. "Thanks."

She felt the hot sting of shame in her cheeks and barrelled on, not knowing whether he would be willing to hear her out again if she left now. "Because I might have been wrong—about your mistletoe, you know."

The hardness in his expression faltered for a moment as he dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "It isn't magical." Jaw clenched, he glanced back inside the house. "I had a friend in the Department of Mysteries take a look at it."

"You what—" she choked, eyes widening.

As if consulting an Unspeakable over a bit of holiday decor was nothing, Cormac shrugged. "He owed me a favour."

Despite herself and the tense situation, she couldn't help a quiet titter from escaping. He scowled for a moment before his lips twitched, but then his face went blank again.

"I guess," Hermione breathed, digging deep for the last shreds of her courage, "I didn't know what to make of the way I've been feeling about you."

Cormac glanced away, down the street, and drawled, "Because it couldn't possibly have been real?"

With a wince, she folded her arms on instinct, withdrawing into herself. "I wasn't sure if there was some spell at play, and then I didn't want to…" Trailing off, she dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. She blew out a long breath. "Anyways, I only wanted to say—I'm really sorry. I think you're great, and as it turns out, I made a big mess of the situation. I regret that I've hurt you." Her eyes burned with the effort to withhold tears and she concluded with a feeble, "I hope you enjoy your evening."

She turned to walk down the front step until his voice halted her in her tracks.

"Hermione." When she froze, cautioning a glance back, he sighed. "The offer stands, I suppose."

"Offer?"

His eyes rolled, even as a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "If you wanted to _not_ celebrate Valentine's Day together."

Relief seized her heart, and she couldn't help the smile from pulling across her face. "I'd like that."

"Come on, then," he muttered, "fucking cold out."

Cormac's home, as she learned as she crossed the threshold, was a study in Cormac. His kitchen was tidy and spotless; shelves lined the walls of his sitting room, some featuring an organised library of books, while others displayed odd collections of knickknacks.

Standing on one end table was a small Christmas tree, although it was pink and red with small white baubles; Hermione was reminded that George said Cormac was fond of incorrect seasonal decor, and idly, she wondered whether it was another gift.

"I made you something," she blurted, turning to Cormac. "It isn't anything fancy, of course…"

He blinked at her mutely in surprise, and Hermione fumbled in the inner pocket of her coat for the item she had spent the better part of the afternoon preparing.

Cormac stared at it with a furrow in his brow, bringing it closer to his face as he squinted at it.

Weakly, Hermione muttered, "It's a turtle."

"You _made_ this?" he asked, his voice quiet. "For me?"

"Yes." The small decorative turtle sat easily atop his palm, and each scule of its shell had a different, contrasting pattern. Its face featured large eyes with long eyelashes and arched brows, and a cheesy grin full of teeth.

He gave a low snort, and then a chuckle. "How clever. Look at its face."

She managed, "It's anatomically incorrect."

With a flash of a wry grin, he said, "Thanks, Hermione. It's great." Carefully rearranging a few items on one shelf, he placed the turtle in the middle, in a place of honour. She felt oddly touched. "Come on. I'll show you what I've been working on."

He led her back towards the kitchen table where a large, life-like Quidditch pitch model sat. A collection of miniature brooms were lined up beside it in two different colours.

"It's a small Quidditch pitch," she said, blinking down at it.

Cormac twisted his mouth to the side. "I build and collect miniature Quidditch models. The brooms are getting a coat of polish."

There was something terribly endearing about it, and Hermione couldn't help a smile as she peered down at the small field, complete with all the proper features. "Did you craft this yourself?"

He nodded. "It's real grass, but it keeps outgrowing its stasis charm so I have to keep it trimmed."

"Of course," she said, brows high. "And which teams do the colours signify?"

"This year's seats for the World Cup haven't been determined yet," he said, matter-of-fact, as if she followed international Quidditch, "so they're currently still last year's teams."

Hermione didn't know which teams had played the previous year, but she wasn't keen to voice the thought. She gave a non-committal hum, before reaching for one of the miniature brooms. "May I?"

When he nodded, canting his head to the side, she peered closer at one of the brooms. There was an incredible amount of fine detail in them, and she found herself impressed by the craftsmanship. Quietly, she admitted, "My father would love this. He's always built hobby miniatures."

"Good man," Cormac returned, but his expression was soft. Although she had been able to restore her parents' memories after the war, her relationship with them had never been the same; they hadn't understood the depth of the war, and had taken it as a violation of trust. She knew Cormac knew well enough about the situation. With a wave of his wand, the fourteen miniature brooms flew into formation inside the pitch, and he offered a crooked smile. "I can finish polishing them tomorrow."

Still staring at the pitch, she breathed, "I don't know that I would have the patience for all that detail."

"When I set my heart to something," Cormac said as he glanced her way with a flippant shrug that belied the sentiment to his words, "I have trouble letting it go."

Her own heart jumped in her chest at the admission, and she opened her mouth to speak. "Cor, I—"

But he held up a hand. "Can I get you something to drink? Water? Juice? Wine?"

"Water would be good, thanks."

Cormac fixed two glasses of water and led her back into the sitting room; following his lead, she took a seat on the sofa, taking a sip from her glass before setting it carefully on a coaster.

Gaze held on the coffee table, he broke the silence. "I was an idiot when we were at Hogwarts." With a soft chuckle, he went on before she could speak. "I was aggressively forward; I thought I knew everything, and honestly, I was a prat to you."

"You weren't a prat," she huffed, side-eyeing him.

Cormac lifted a single brow, as if in disbelief. "I knew you were interested in Ron Weasley, and I thought he was wrong for you and I just thought if I pushed harder for your attention, I'd get it. But you just liked him better—and that's okay."

"He _was_ wrong for me," she intoned, "to be fair."

Cormac cracked a grin, a hint of that old conceit showing through. "I can usually get a pretty good read on a person. Like fucking _Quirrell_ —someone ought to have asked me what I thought of Quirrell back in second year."

Despite herself, Hermione released a bright laugh. "I can only imagine what you were like as a second year." Though they had both been in Gryffindor, she hadn't paid him any mind until her sixth year. At the thought, she sobered. "I treated you unfairly, Cor. I don't think I ever gave you a proper chance."

"I would have blown it even if you had," he said quietly. His eyes shifted to catch hers, his expression honest and open.

Idly toying with the tassels on the throw blanket perched on the back of his sofa to busy her hands, she mused, "I'm not sure where any of this leaves us now."

"The same as we've been the past eight years," he said with a shrug. "The ball has always been on your side of the pitch."

"What do you mean?" Startled, she blinked, tucking one foot beneath her to turn towards him.

Cormac eyed her for a long moment. "Who gave you my address today?"

Feeling a dull flush rise in her cheeks, she admitted, "George."

"Bastard," he muttered, "do I even want to know how much he told you?"

Biting down on her bottom lip, she whispered, "That depends on how much you wanted me to know."

He only shook his head slowly.

"What if I said," she managed, the words thin and feeble, "that I wish I could fix what happened yesterday." Her voice dropped to a breath as she went on. "I wanted to know I could trust the way I've been feeling about you."

"I can understand that," he said at last with a nod. "And I shouldn't have expected you to understand the friendship between George and I. The _last_ thing he would do is dose me with a love spell."

Hermione swallowed thickly. "I understand that now. And for what it's worth… I think he really appreciates everything you've done for him."

Glancing her way, his lips quirked with a wry smile. "So tell me this—if you could fix what happened yesterday. How would it go instead? Would you have _not_ kissed me?"

Sucking in a breath, she stared at him for a long moment, summoning her nerve. She whispered, "I wouldn't have stopped."

His throat bobbed with a swallow, even as his lips twitched. "We work together."

"We'd have to figure something out," she conceded. It wasn't _against_ Ministry policy, strictly, but it certainly wasn't encouraged within the departments. "I _want_ to give this a try."

"You weren't at work today," he mused, casually taking her hand into his, "so you didn't get the memo, but Collins wants one of us to head the implementation committee for the proposal between the two departments."

A breath caught in her throat. "Just one of us?"

"We'll both still be working on it of course," he went on, his thumb stroking distracting circles on the back of her hand. "But _technically_ , it would be a new position out of the department until the implementation is completed. Six months or so."

Her eyes tightened with consideration. "Collins didn't specify?"

"Nope." Cautious blue eyes caught hers. "It's yours if you want it."

It was a sudden shift in the conversation, and Hermione frowned, unable to process the thought of making such a decision on the spot. "I don't know," she admitted.

"We don't need to let him know right away," Cormac said, "it was only a thought."

Hermione entwined their fingers, tugging him marginally closer. "An interesting thought."

His eyes sparkled. "I thought so."

"Cor," she breathed, glancing away, "something else George said today..."

"Let me guess," Cormac mused, a knowing smile lifting his lips, "he said I never got over you."

She managed a tight nod. "Is that true?"

"'Course it's true. Hermione..." A knit pulled between his brows and he shook his head. "You're the most amazing woman I've ever known."

For a long moment, she could only gape at him, despair mingling with excitement in her chest. She had _never_ treated him with the consideration or the respect he deserved, even as a cocky teenager. The thought of it stung at her eyes, even as he lifted a hand to her face, sweeping his thumb beneath her eye as a tear broke free. Her eyelids fluttered at his touch as he dragged her nearer, his hand sliding back into her curls as his lips grazed hers.

Pitching forward, she seized his collar, kissing him without hesitation or doubt. She was alight from the feel of him as his other hand dragged up her side, shifting her back against the cushions as he kissed her thoroughly, igniting her core with desire.

She slipped a hand beneath his shirt, trailing her fingers along the smooth muscle of his back, tugging his shirt up and over his head; he released her for only long enough to throw his shirt to the floor before latching onto her neck with his lips and tongue.

"Cor," she gasped, heart racing in her chest, blood roaring in her ears.

Cormac hummed against her skin, drawing back after a moment to meet her stare, his eyes cautious as he reached for the hem of her top. Swallowing, she nodded, and as he tugged the material over her head, leaving her in her bra, she breathed, "You haven't shown me the bedroom."

He froze, peering up at her through his long lashes, and asked, "Are you sure, Hermione?"

Palming him through the fabric of his jeans, she managed, "I'm sure."

A breath chased from him as his eyes widened, and he choked out a muted, "Okay, then." Rising to his feet, he hitched her up to coil her legs around his waist, and with a squeeze to her arse, he maneuvered them down the hall, stopping to press her against the wall, lips seeking her own once more.

It was a line they had never crossed as youths, but one she now greatly desired to experience with him, and when Cormac tossed her into his bed and made quick work of her jeans, she felt her core pulsing with desire. Releasing the closure of his jeans, she pushed the fabric from his hips, and the solid warmth of his body was reassuring as it covered her own, his kisses insatiable yet coloured with a reverence that set her skin on fire.

With deft fingers he released the clasp of her bra, taking his time with each of her nipples before laving a trail of kisses down her stomach towards her knickers. His eyes met hers as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband, and chest heaving with a mixture of anticipation and exertion, she nodded, swallowing as he dragged the fabric down one leg and then the other.

Hermione coiled a hand into his hair, dragging his face back to hers, and she slipped her other hand beneath his pants, taking the firm length of him in her palm as he slid two fingers inside of her, setting her into a rhythm that had her gasping his name.

As Cormac toed his pants off the rest of the way, she swept her hands along the hard ridges of his muscle, pulling him close against her once more. And when he positioned himself at her entrance and slid inside, she arched against the bed, biting down on her bottom lip to stifle a cry.

With a soft exhalation of her name, he stilled—and then began to move. Her legs bent against his hips, mouth working against his as he set a teasing, tantalising pace that set her mind spinning, her body coiling and winding as he pushed her towards that precipice.

She buried a hand into his curls, the other dragging down his back as he worshipped her—made love to her. It was the only way she could describe it.

Moisture stung at her eyes at the way his hands grazed her curves, and when he sped up his pace, Hermione matching him for each thrust, she could feel her release approach. And when she fell over the edge with a cry like the breaking of a wave, she breathed his name as an oath.

Several moments later he stilled with a groan and a heavy exhale against her skin. Blue eyes fluttered open to meet hers, and with a lazy grin she carded a hand through his damp hair as he withdrew from within her and laid along her side.

She felt the quiet touch of magic against her skin—his contraceptive spell—as her eyes fluttered, and a smile tugged at her lips as he trailed his fingertips along her cheekbone. Cormac's lips pressed to her temple, her eyes sliding open as she stifled a yawn, and he breathed against her skin, "Sweet dreams," before she drifted to sleep in his arms.

* * *

Hermione awoke to a faceful of dark blond curls that weren't her own and a strong arm draped across her bare waist. A sleepy smile spread across her face as she shifted in Cormac's hold, the events of the night before coming back to her in a slow progression.

Cormac blinked awake, his blue eyes lit with a sparkle as he smiled at her. "Tell me it's Saturday."

"It's Saturday." Dragging her fingers through his hair, she allowed her eyes to fall shut once more. She hadn't intended to stay the night—and in fact, hadn't expected things to go so well between them—but she didn't regret it.

"Good." Humming, he wrapped an arm beneath her waist, hauling her into his chest as he met her lips with a kiss. "I'm not letting you out of bed until at least noon."

Against his mouth, Hermione whispered, "That's acceptable," before shifting beneath the sheets and swinging one leg over his hips. His morning erection prodded against her, a soft smile curling his lips, and as she sank down atop him, the glint in his eye set her heart to life.

* * *

_One Year Later_

Hermione glanced up at a soft knock on the door of her office, but before she could respond, the door clicked open behind her back and a smile tugged at her lips as it quietly closed once more.

Setting the stack of parchment she'd been organizing down, she turned her head just as a pair of strong arms laced around her from behind. Cormac's curls grazed the side of her face as he planted a kiss to her cheek, pulling her against him in a solid embrace.

He murmured in her ear, "Hello, my love."

Finding his hand against her midsection, Hermione interlaced their fingers, the diamond on her ring finger sparkling. She still wasn't quite used to the look of it yet.

Quietly, she returned, "Hi Cor."

Resting his chin on her shoulder, he eyed her ring finger for a long moment between their entwined fingers. "It suits you."

Turning her face towards his, Hermione planted a kiss on his lips. "You have _excellent_ taste."

It had been Cormac's Christmas gift to her, in his sitting room decorated with red and green pumpkins. Tears had sprung to her eyes in an instant as she had nodded, unable to speak.

Hermione found it funny, sometimes, how things worked out.

He cracked a grin, releasing her as he leaned back against her desk, folding his arms. "This office is _so_ much bigger than mine."

With a smile, she mused, "I know. Maybe _you_ should have taken the job out of the department."

After she had spent six months leading the implementation committee for their International Floo proposal between the two departments, the Department of Magical International Cooperation had offered her a senior position. Given Cormac had always enjoyed working in Magical Transportation more than she, Hermione had been quick to accept the position.

It meant they weren't _strictly_ co-workers, and in essence, had solved any problems that may have arisen on that end.

Cormac hummed as he idly rearranged a few books on her shelf that she had stowed hastily before a meeting and were out of place. "Leadership suits you better than me. I'm happy where I am." Squinting closer at her books, he stepped back, satisfied, before flashing her a grin. "I still get to see you every day, but no one's breathing down our necks over it."

With a soft smile, she approached him, hands drifting along his hips. "You'd see me most days regardless."

"I know." He gave her a cocky grin. "Soon enough, every day."

Hermione had just been finalising the last details with her flat before preparing to move into Cormac's house; she found herself looking forward to it more by the day—and it helped that he was as keen on keeping a clean space as she was.

"What are we doing tonight?"

"Tonight?" he repeated, brows high. "Absolutely nothing."

A wry grin crept along her lips and she pressed a kiss to his mouth. She suspected they would always _not_ have plans on Valentine's Day, which suited her perfectly fine.

"Of course," Cor went on, "George and Angelina are coming over later. But that's nothing to do with anything else."

"Of course," she echoed with a stern nod. "I'll pick up some snacks on my way over?"

Dropping his head to the side, he mused, "That sounds great." His lips lifted into a secretive smile as he took her hand into his once more and said quietly, "I love you."

Hermione didn't think she would ever tire of the words, though he made a point of telling her daily. She looked forward to hearing them for the rest of their lives together. Pushing up on her toes, she breathed, "I love you more," before pressing a kiss to his mouth.

As he deepened the kiss, pulling her in as her hands entwined around his neck, her eyes snapped open to peer up at the sprig of Valentine's mistletoe hanging above her door, complete with little red hearts, and her lips curled with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you for joining me in this silly little story. I hope you enjoyed, and a Happy Valentine's/Singles Independence Day!


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